Breath
by Dragonfire Alchemist
Summary: This was it. He was going to die... in one of the worst ways to go. (Ed-centric; warning for character death)


**Just a bit of angst practice. Based off one of the bad endings in Corpse Party: Blood Covered plus my obsession (as of late) with horror, angst, and anything dark in general. Enjoy!**

* * *

Oh god, it hurts all over.

That was the first sentence that occurred to Edward as he was roused from his pain-induced slumber. The next:

"Where… the hell am I…?"

His body felt sluggish, his cold steel limbs seeming to weigh five tons instead of ten pounds. He wheezed softly, shivering from the cold. He could feel the relatively soft earth he was on, the light drizzle from above making it damp, freezing mud that clung to his already-soaked clothing… He must have been out in the rain for some time. This observation was augmented by the fact that his automail ached and creaked all over.

His head was pounding.

He tasted blood.

His limbs were bound.

"_What was I doing…?"_

And then it hit him. The fight. Knife hitting him in the arm. Splitting pain to the back of his head. Darkness.

It was dark here, too. He was surrounded by the musk of rain and dirt, which made his nose wrinkle. There seemed to be no light… Except from above. His head feebly tilted up to squint at the only light source, ignoring the spears of pain shooting into his brain from the movement.

Concussion. Lovely.

"Awake, are we?" A familiar, yet distant, voice snickered, smugness clearly lacing the tone. It seemed to be coming from up there…

That was… whose voice? The pain was making it hard to think…

Wait.

That was his target's voice.

"Shut… up…" Ed rasped, tiredly glaring up at the light.

"Not so tough now that you're in your grave, are you, Fullmetal brat?"

His… Grave?

Ed wheezed before resuming his glare. "You're… gonna regret-"

He was cut off by a large pile of dirt hitting him in the face. He spluttered before growling. "Hey..!"

His grave. What did that mean? Suddenly, his eyes widened in horror. His grave. The dirt all around.

He was going to be buried alive.

More dirt came raining down from the pit's opening, and he ducked his head to avoid getting dirt in his eyes.

"Nothing to say, brat?" the voice sneered. With every "shff", more and more dirt came pouring down. "Any last words?"

Ed groaned in pain as dirt entered his wounds, went into the cracks of his automail, and smeared all over his face and hair. "St..sto..p… P…Ple…ase…"

His mind was in a full-blown panic. He couldn't die here… Al still needed to get his body back! The next words from the man chilled him to the bone.

"Too late for that now, isn't it, _dog_?"

His prosthetics couldn't move now, even if they weren't bound with strong rope. The dirt clogged up the spaces between the metal, practically cementing his limbs to the ground.

"Please… Sto-!" He choked as the bitter, musky earth found its way into his mouth. He spit it out desperately as his chest was covered. It was becoming harder and harder to breathe, and he struggled to keep his head up any further. "_Stop!_" He screamed, losing any semblance of staying calm. He was going to die. He was going to slowly suffocate to death. He was going to _die _here and nobody would even _know_ where he was!

The dirt kept coming, even speeding up a little, at his plea. Soon, it began covering his face. He threw his head this way and that in a futile attempt to shake off the earth, barely managing to breathe through his nose. But even that couldn't postpone the inevitable.

He gagged as it managed to push into his mouth and up his nose. He feebly struggled, but the wet earth pressed down on him uncaringly, literally sealing his fate.

"_No…" _he thought. _"Please… No… I don't want to die…!"_

The weight grew and grew until he felt like he was being crushed by a giant boulder, and his lungs screamed in agony as they burned.

"Gh..k..!"

"_Somebody… Please..."_

The weight suddenly felt like nothing, and he could no longer feel the pressure. Quite the opposite; he felt extraordinarily light.

"_Al… Winry… I'm so sorry…"_

He could feel his consciousness slipping away, and his panic subsided to acceptance that it would be the last time.

"_Colonel Bastard… Sorry I couldn't… Complete the mission…"_

The spots behind his eyelids swam and danced, luring him into a deep slumber.

And with that, the young prodigy, with a long life ahead- with many a friend and family member awaiting his return- died a slow, agonizing death, not even allowed a peaceful final breath after all the pain he had suffered. Such is the way of an unfeeling, uncaring world.


End file.
